19 Years Later (or thereabouts)
by fanwarriorqueenintraining
Summary: The story of the fourth Triumvirate: Megan Turnleaf, Cal Turnleaf, and Harmony Zipes. Yes, it's a children-of-all-the-ships story, but I swear actual plot will be included. It may not be good, but it will exist. Fic will probably include many things that aren't canonically confirmed but aren't disproven either. And yes, the title is a bad Harry Potter reference.
1. Chapter 1

"You are so dead!"

Nighttime wind whipped through the air, the cold slicing through the thin fabric of my t-shirt and jeans, stinging my cheeks. My hair flapped wildly in all directions. Why hadn't I worn a hat? Preferably a ski cap. I'd worn all-black clothing for low visibility, but I'd forgotten to cover my sunshine-blond hair. I was practically waving a yellow flag, with red highlights. A flag that was extremely easy for my pursuer to follow.

"DEAD!"

I resisted the urge to yell back a sarcastic comment; I needed all my breath for running. Each inhale was a strangled gasp; I sounded like a dying fish. _Note to self; I am not a night owl._ This would have been so much easier at a reasonable hour.

Still… couldn't complain, really. I had, in a roundabout way, kinda sorta contributed to this mess.

"You can't run forever!"

Sadly, he was right. I was a decent runner at best, and he was a running back for our middle school's football team. Plus, he had much better night vision than I did. Another factor I probably should have considered.

"You little freak, I'm gonna-"

Right, that did it.

Turning around, I slapped the hair out of my face and opened my mouth to yell a snarky reply.

And that, of course, was when the toe of my sneaker snagged on the leg of my jean and sent me tumbling backwards.

 _Why did Mom have to refuse to buy me skinny jeans?_

With practiced reflexes born from years of painful falls, every muscle in my body relaxed as I waited for the moment of impact.

Which seemed to be taking longer than it should.

Why wasn't I in pain yet?

And why did it smell so strongly of smoke?

And why was it so dark all of a sudden? What happened to the stars?

 _Oh my holy crap I just fell down the chimney._

 _Correction; I'm still falling down the chimney. I am currently in the process of falling._

 _Stopping would be good._

I thrust out my arms and legs, wincing as the rough edges of the bricks scraped against my palms. My descent slowed. _Thank gumdrops._

"MEG, YOU IDIOT!"

His roar was still echoing off the sides of the chimney when something very large and heavy struck my stomach. Choking desperately, I lost my tentative grip and went pinwheeling to the ground, arms and legs colliding painfully with the flailing limbs of whatever was above me.

Sadly, the large pile of wood in the hearth did little to soften my-correction, _our_ -fall.

"Ow," Cal muttered. Wincing, he dragged himself onto our living room carpet and lay there for a moment before pulling me roughly to his side, dragging me over the logs. _So much for chivalry._

His blue eyes gleamed indignantly as he stared down at me. "You have lost your tiny little mind, Megs!"

The hiccups I was letting that one pass. Glaring at him fiercely, I opened my mouth to give him a piece of my actually quite large and intelligent mind, thank you very much, drawing myself up with ramrod posture and steely but unwounded dignity.

And then, of course, I inhaled and began choking on soot.

"Meg!" Cal's large hands enclosed my waist as I doubled over, and an electric current ran down my spine. My airways instantly cleared, my watering eyes stopped streaming, and I fancied my hair even got a little less tangled. (Okay, maybe that was my imagination. Chances of Cal being thoughtful for once and including that? Slim.)

Wow. Cal was the one to use his Fey powers, for once? Highly unusual.

But then, this was hardly the most typical of times.

"Thanks," I muttered.

Cal glared at me. "Give it back."

I gave him my best innocent expression, which is pretty dang hard to pull off when you're fresh out of a chimney. "What?"

The glare intensified. "NOW."

Sighing, I pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and slapped it into his hand. "Fine. You happy?"

"No," Cal told me, stowing it firmly in the shirt pocket of his pajamas. "Did I mention you're completely insane? You sneak into my room, steal my phone, and then you jump out the freaking window and start running around the roof like a chicken with its head cut off, and it's MIDNIGHT, Megan, MIDNIGHT!"

"Ooh. Megan. Full first name. We're all serious now."

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course I am! And you left several key factors out of that summary."

"Like what?"

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, I don't know. The fact that you threw a lamp at me, thus forcing me to climb out the window if I didn't want a concussion, and then chased me onto the roof?" No wonder he got a C on his last book report. "I could have been concussed! Mom and Dad are still paying medical bills from the last time you fell out of the Tree of Hope, do you really want to put that burden on their shoulders? Cal Eric Turnleaf, I am really very disapp-"

"You can just shut up!" Cal hissed. "You are not going to confuse me. You snuck into my room and stole my phone in the middle of the night-"

'It's actually twelve-fifteen now and-"

"You had absolutely no good reason to do that, Megan! Give me one good reason why you are acting so strange and maybe-"

"Harmony."

Cal snapped his mouth shut, and a dark blush spread over his face. He inherited our mother's blushing genes. Unlucky for him, but great for me. "W-w-what?"

"You heard me." I grinned, savoring my brother's discomfiture at the mention of Harmony Jean Zipes, my best friend and his (not-so) secret crush.

"W-what does she have to do with a-a-anything?"

"You've been texting her. Kind of a LOT."

"Who I text is my business, Megs!"

"Not when it's Harmony. I'm not convinced you'd treat her right."

"I would so!" Cal's blush deepened. "No! I mean-"

"Save your breath, brother mine." I crossed my legs and sat back. "So, that's my good reason. You wouldn't let me see your texts, so I was going to take your phone, look at what you've been saying to Harmony, and pass the final judgment on whether I would approve the relationship. But you were awake and…well, you know the rest."

Cal opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.

"Are you going to say something, or just continue with your fish expression? I'm starting to doubt you'd have the intelligence to hold a conversation with Harm."

"What makes you think I like her?"

"Oh, puh-lease. If I tell you every way you're so totally obvious about it, it'll take the rest of the night."

Cal opened his mouth a final time, then sighed. "I hate you sometimes, little sis."

My eyes widened. " _Little_ sis? Excuse me, dude? We're Fey fudging _twins!_ I'm eighteen minutes older than you, actually!"

"But you're shorter."

" _HOW IS THAT RELEVANT?!_ And only by an inch!"

"An inch and three-quarters."

"Detail freak."

"Drama queen."

"What's going on here?"

 _Uh-oh._

We spun around in unison to see our mom and dad standing in the doorway, giving us both _The Look._ You know the one. That parental look.

Mom's eyebrows skyrocketed as she stared at the pair of us, covered in soot and welts, me in my ninja-Goth-burglar outfit and Cal in neon orange boxers and a shirt advertising some heavy-metal band. I really must speak to my bro about his "fashion sense." Someday soon, before he scares Harmony away permanently.

"Did you two go out and fight a dragon?" Dad asked. Sometimes, when he was particularly happy or amused, decades dropped off his face and he looked more like Cal's twin than I did (if you ignored Cal's hazel eyes). Now was not one of those times.

"Bed," Mom said brusquely. "Now. Both of you. Wait- shower, then bed. And in the morning, you're explaining everything, in detail, and probably getting grounded afterward." She pointed up the stairs. "March! And don't wake up your sister!"

I am Megan Hadriane Turnleaf. I'm one-quarter Fey (you might have guessed something like from the name), half-Character by bloodline, and _all_ child of two of the most famous names and faces of the fairy-tale world.

Ever heard of Rory Landon and Chase Turnleaf? If you haven't, you're probably living under a rock. They were part of the last triumvirate, along with my honorary aunt, Lena LaMarelle. They're the ones who defeated Solange, the Snow Queen. Yep, _that_ Snow Queen, the one who caused the Cold War, the bane of Characters everywhere until they took her down.

My mom told me that when she was a kid, she found it pretty near impossible to step out of her parents' shadows. (My grandparents-grandma's a famous actress, grandpa's a director. We're named for them, Cal and me.) But she managed it. Boy howdy, did she ever manage it.

And at thirteen and a half, I had the exact same problem as my mother Rory Landon before me.

Not that it wasn't nice, being the kid of (unofficial) celebrities. I wouldn't have traded it for anything. Still wouldn't. But it did get exhausting once in a while.

My teachers used to accuse me of acting out. Both kinds of teachers, if you know what I mean. My math teachers gave me months of detention. A certain Canon member who shall remain nameless called me "a twitterbrained, snake-tongued wench with the attitude of a slavering hyena." (Get him mad enough and he forgets what century we're in.) And…I'm not going to say that they were wrong about me. But it was the only way to get noticed sometimes. Noticed for who I am, me, as a person, as a living breathing being, as something more than the offspring of the world's most famous "happily-ever-after."

This is the story of how I finally left the shadow of my family, stepped out into the metaphorical sunlight, and found a legacy of my own.

It's not just my story, of course. That would be pretty boring, even with someone as riveting as me directing this show. It's a story about lots of stuff, as most great stories are; but no one else seems inclined to write it down. So I think I'll do it myself, and wait for them to find out after it hits the bestseller lists. Call me overly optimistic, but what is life without a little belief in yourself?

My name is Megan Turnleaf, and this is the story of how I lived.


	2. Chapter 2

Let no one say that I go to my doom looking anything less than my best.

I don't sleep well when I'm stressed; I woke up at six-fifteen the next morning. I took my time getting dressed, as I was in no hurry to explain last night's escapades.

Pondering the expanse of my closet, I wondered which look was the most likely to get me in the least trouble. Something that appealed to parental units, but didn't make them suspicious in any way. Perhaps a "dutiful schoolgirl" look?

As you may have noticed, I'm not really the "dutiful schoolgirl" type, but I donned the closest things I had-a short-sleeved button-up white blouse with flared collar, knee-length navy skirt, and black leather sandals with ballet straps, leaving my shoulder-length scarlet-streaked blond hair down and loose.

But it just didn't work for me. It needed a good dose of my signature style-something sweet, sassy, quirky, daring. In other words, it just plain wasn't Megan enough for me.

Jewelry improves everything. I added some genie-style silver bangles on one arm and a charm bracelet on the other, an amethyst anklet, and a super-skinny gold choker.

Hmm…passable, but the hair needed something. I threw in some slender braids and butterfly hairclips, twirled my ends around a pencil, and topped it all off with clear and sparkly insta-dry nail polish (fingers and toes), my fave cherry lip gloss, and a spritz of calming lavender/rose perfume before studying my reflection again. It would do for a Monday.

Did I mention that my brother is a clone of my dad? Well, I'm pretty much my bro in girl version. I'm Cal 2.0, though obviously much cuter and with my dad's big blue eyes. I'm no supermodel, but I'm not a troll, and I flatter myself that I look good when I try and the wind blows the right direction.

Thus prepared, I tripped down the stairs to the kitchen, planning my rationalization of the chimney debacle. Literally tripped-these shoes weren't the easiest to walk in.

My little sister sat at the breakfast table, studying her coloring book as if it held the key to fixing global warming. That's my sis for you; Allison Shelby Turnleaf, the most enigmatic six-year-old the world has ever known.

"Morning, Alls." I planted a kiss on her sticky cheek and headed for the fridge, removing some OJ and pouring a glass. You can never be too careful with your vitamin C.

"Morning," Allie answered, her crystalline voice quiet and serious as usual. When she grows up, I swear she'll be a singer if she ever learns to speak above a whisper.

I gulped down my orange juice and was in the process of preparing some Cinnamon Crunch cereal when Cal padded down the stairs, hair a tousled blond mess, clad in baggy jeans and a sky-blue hoodie.

"Morning, sleeping beauty." I pulled out a box of Wheaty Eats for him-he insists on "eating healthy" to "keep up his physique." News flash, brother dear-you need an actual physique first.

"Urmph." He apparently could not be troubled to wisecrack me back, or even to provide a coherent response. What else was new?

He poured himself some apple juice, ruffled Alle's hair in greeting, and sat down at the kitchen table. "Mom and Dad up yet?"

"Nope. Doomsday is postponed."

"Yep, for about five minutes…" He yawned.

"Better than nothing?"

"You're going to be the one explaining, Meg."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the one that tried to steal my phone and started it all."

"Fine, I won't contest that. Although I still think the lamp was overkill."

"Well, what would you have done if there was an intruder in your room?"

"Zapped them with a spell. Duh."

"Like you could manage that."

I scowled at him, but sadly, he was right. I'm only a quarter Fey; that doesn't give me much magical ability. I use what I have to the fullest extent, though. It mostly comes in handy for pranks and petty revenge, both of which I excel at: other things… important things… not so much.

Speaking of petty revenge… "That reminds me, is that really what you're wearing?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Well, I'm walking to school with Harmony today, so she's coming over in a minute, and-"

Cal rudely interrupted my sentence by choking on his juice. "WHAT?! How did you not mention this?" he sputtered.

I gave my best sweet and devious smile. "I didn't know you cared."

Cal shot me a baleful glare.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, fine. Here." Stepping behind him and pulling him upright, I raked my fingers through his hair until it could pass for "stylishly windswept" instead of "just went through a blizzard," then tugged at his clothing until it hung a little better and briefly knelt to retie his laces. "There's not that much I can do. And you really might want to change those pants, you've worn them three days in a row."

Cal was up the stairs like a shot.

And that, of course, was when Mom stepped into the kitchen, sat down across from where I stood, and gave me a steely glare, pulling her ratty blue bathrobe tight around herself. "Full story. Now."

Even wearing a bedraggled bathrobe and the fluffy pink penguin slippers Allie and I got her last Mother's Day, my mom cuts a fairly intimidating figure even if you're not in the know about her youthful world-saving escapades. Tall and muscular, with the stylishly messy hair you rarely see off of book/magazine covers and hazel eyes that can stop you cold at twenty paces, she's every inch the "Warrior Queen" I've heard the paparazzi call her. I wish I had an eighth of her presence. Alas, I am doomed to medium stature, a slight build, and a total lack of any dark aura. Aside from what my closest friends call "a terrifying lunatic gleam in my eye," at first glance I'm about as physically threatening as a pink butterfly.

But enough about my shortcomings. Back to the story.

With the typical masterful composure you've already come to expect of me, I delivered my opening volley. "Ah, er, um. Well. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation, you see…"

Mom's expression was completely blank. She was cunning; she _knew_ that her poker face would leave me at a loss. If I can't get a read on someone's emotions when I'm trying to argue with someone/persuade them to do something/generally win them over to my side, I'm basically powerless.

"Cal's totally in love with Harmony," I blurted out.

Mom raised an eyebrow. "You think I don't know that? _Please_."

"Well, you sounded pretty shocked when _I_ told you, sweetheart." Dad's voice drifted in from the other room.

Mom twisted around in her seat. "I was not!"

Dad came padding in from the bedroom on sock-clad feet, wearing the Golden Snitch-patterned pajamas Mom insisted on getting him in Orlando two years ago. "Oh, please. Rory, you're every bit as oblivious today as you were when we were in eighth grade."

He ducked, barely avoiding the saltshaker she threw at his head. "Your aim hasn't improved either," he added, straightening up with a cocky grin.

Mom rose from her chair, eyes gleaming with the spirit of battle. "Shut up."

"Make me."

It took heroic self-control not to say "ewwww" as I watched them kiss.

However, I took the opportunity of their distraction to stealthily finish off my Cinnamon Crunch, my eyes fixed the entire time on the microwave.

 _Wait a second…._

"Mom! Dad!" I blurted out. "Doesn't Allie need to be at preschool soon?"

Mom broke away from Dad (thank gumdrops) and turned to look at the microwave clock. "Nice try, young lady. Allie's preschool doesn't start for forty-five minutes."

"No, Megan's right," Allie interjected quietly, looking up from her coloring book. "We start half an hour early today 'cause we have a field trip to Atlantis."

(Allie's 'preschool' is actually a division of EAS. Just a division made up entirely of three-to-six year olds. Don't worry; they take lots of precautions. And they don't even give them real weapons.)

"That's today?" Mom's eyes went wide. "I'm chaperoning!"

"We should probably get going," Allie suggested, in that hesitant, almost apologetic _don't-mind-me_ voice that makes you want to sweep her up in a hug and instantly obey her every wish. Ahh, she's a brilliant little devil.

"Of course, sweetie." Mom managed to grab her keys, toss Allie her coat, and shoot me a look that promised she wasn't done with me all in the same motion.

I put on my best 'innocent, dutiful daughter' face, but if the glare I received in return was any indicator, my best wasn't good enough.

Oh well. At least I had more time to come up with something now.  
I'd talk about it with Cal later, maybe. Drag him away from the football team at lunch for a 'how to avoid getting grounded' brainstorming session.

Mom pulled open the front door and began shooing Allie down the steps. "Come on, sweetie. We can make it if I speed through all the yellow lights."

Dad gave a satisfied sigh as the door swung shut. "Such a responsible parent, your mother."

I raised an eyebrow. "Ever heard the saying 'don't judge until you can do better'?"

"Are you implying I'm not the strictest but fairest of disciplinarians?"

"More or less…. yes."

"I'm deeply wounded." In one gulp, Dad drained a cup of coffee that I hadn't seen him making and absentmindedly dropped his mug into the sink. "Well, I suppose I should be getting ready for work. See you when you get home from school, pumpkin."

"See you, Dad," I called towards his retreating back as he meandered into his bedroom, presumably in search of more professional attire.

I was in the process of calculating whether or not I had time to fry myself an egg before school when the doorbell rang.

I didn't bother to get it, knowing that the ring was only a polite formality.

Sure enough, a moment later, the door opened and my best friend came breezing in.

Now, a word about Harmony Zipes; she can only be summed up in the phrase "badass nerd." She can trounce you in a mathletes competition and kick your behind halfway to next Sunday. She can do it all in her _sleep._

Today, as usual, she wore her signature thick-rimmed hipster glasses, and her silky black hair was pulled back in two dorky but adorable pigtails. Her outfit consisted of a black leather vest over a cream sweater, faded jeans, and high-heeled chocolate boots that matched her skin tone, and even though she'd barely left the house, there were three pencils stuck behind her ears, which were adorned with golden hoops. Her purple backpack bulged with books.

"Ready to go?" she chirped, bouncing on her toes. Her fingers drummed on the sides of her thighs. Unless I missed my guess, she'd stopped off at Starbucks on the way here and gotten her favorite mocha cappuccino.

"In a sec!" I darted through the kitchen, snatching my math textbook, my spare quiver, and a couple of extra hair ties. I'm on the ninth-grade archer squadron. So's Harmony; she's one of the few Characters who practices multiple weapons, and I'd be hard-pressed to say which one she's better at. She can nail you with a dagger every bit as well as she can with an arrow, which is to say, extremely.

"MEG!"

I turned to see Cal skidding down the banister and landing on the tiled floor with a thud, shirttails flying in every direction, yelling, "Meg, does she-"

He stopped short, his expression dumbstruck as his eyes landed on Harmony. I swear the boy looks at her like she's the eighth wonder of the world.

"Um," Harmony said softly. "Hey. Cal." She gave him a sheepish smile, her nose wrinkling in embarrassment.

"Um," Cal managed. I could see his struggle to keep from gaping like a landed fish. It was a bit pathetic. "Hi. Hello. Nice to see you, I guess. I mean…"

You could tell he'd gone to a lot of effort for this. Oh, had he ever. He was wearing a plaid button-down shirt, jeans that actually fit, and spotless white sneakers with double-knotted laces. His hair was slicked back with water, and he smelled suspiciously like Dad's best cologne.

The punch was all in the presentation, however, and that was going out with a whimper, to quote T. S. Eliot.

Honestly, he'd been texting her for two and a half weeks. You would think her existence would stop giving him a mental meltdown at this point.

"Harm?" I put in, trying to distract her from my twin's awkwardness.

She didn't seem to hear me. She was too busy watching Cal.

"Harm!" I yelled, and she jumped like she'd been electrocuted, her breathing ragged as she stopped her staring match with my brother.

"S-s-sorry!"

Oh my gumdrops, she was stuttering now. I wasn't sure I could take it.

"We'll be late," I reminded her, meaningfully tapping my watch.

"C-coming!" She scurried towards the door, leaping out and letting it swing shut. "See you l-later, Cal?"

"Later," Cal croaked like a dying frog as I sprinted out the door after her, his eyes glued to her like she was a wellspring in the desert and he was dying of thirst. Way to play it cool, bro.

"So, Harm," I puffed, jogging towards her retreating figure as my breath plumed in the chilly air, "last night I fell down a chimney."

She paused, turning around. "I think I misheard you."

"I fell down a chimney."

She tugged on her ears, giving me a puzzled look.

"Fell. Down. A. Chimney. At midnight. And I'll give you the sordid details if you let me borrow your phone."

A suspicious glance was leveled at me out of the sides of her lenses, but curiosity is her fatal flaw. "Alright." The device was duly surrendered.

With a triumphant swipe of my finger, I brought up the homescreen-only to find a "password please" sign blinking up at me, and "inventor2" brought no results. "It's locked!" Harm changed her passcode at random intervals, and she'd done this one without notifying me.

"Of course it is."

"What's the password?"

"That wasn't part of the deal."

"You little-"

Harmony gave me an angelic smile. "Story?"

With an indignant huff, I launched into my epic retelling, leaving out only the reason for the shenanigans in question.

Harm heaved a giant sigh. "The fact that you didn't include this clearly indicates I shall regret asking…but _why_ would you do that, Meg?"

I gave her a devilish smile. "That wasn't part of the deal."

"What's the point of a story if you don't know why it happened?"

"What's the point of a phone if you don't know the password?"

A massive eyeroll. "Fine." She grabbed the phone from me, jabbed in some letters, and shoved it back.

Noting the fact that she'd typed in the password rather than simply told it to me, I triumphantly navigated through her disorganized jumble of apps to the texts section, finding my brother's name at the top of her recent contacts list-

Without warning, Harmony grabbed her phone and yanked it back from me with such force that she nearly sent me flying into the gutter.

"Hey!" I emitted a squeak of outrage. "What was that for?"

"Why were you invading my texts?" Harm demanded, her face like a thundercloud.

"To see what you and my brother have been talking about." I crossed my arms and glowered.

Her face went from "wicked witch" to "cowering rabbit" in seconds. "What? WHY?"

"Because, despite a masterful invasion of his room and appropriation of his phone, I was unable to determine the content of your messages. So I took your phone."

"So you went through that whole debacle to see what we've been texting to each other?!"

"Nail on the head."

"Again… _why_?! It's none of your Fey fudging business what we say to each other!"

"It most assuredly is. As sister and best friend of both romantic counterparts-"

"Romantic?" Harmony threw up her hands. "Meg, there is nothing romantic between us!"

I blinked. "Really? You sure?"  
"Positive. He doesn't like me."

I busted out laughing. "Oh, god. Good one! Really!"

Harmony glared at me. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Um, let me think. YES! Harm, he is completely obsessed with you!"

"Not funny, Meg. The total opposite of funny. So far from it that-"

It's never advisable to let Harm carry on with comparisons for more than a few sentences at a time. Besides, she was being completely ridiculous, and I prefer to be the most ridiculous one in any situation I come across.

"As someone who spends far too much time with Cal, I can assure you, he has a huge thing for you."

"As someone who's been texting him for two and a half weeks," Harmony snapped, too mad even to look embarrassed, "I can assure _you_ , he _doesn't._ "

"Harm, why on earth would give you that idea?"

"He told me he likes someone else!"

Deafening silence.

"What?"

"Maybe you don't know him as well as you think you do, Meg."

"No. No. This is not possible. What did he tell you exactly?"

Shoving her phone in her pocket, Harmony crossed her arms across her chest. "If I tell you, Meg, will you promise to shut up about this?"

I hesitated for an instant, but my curiosity got the better of me. "Fine."

"There's not that much to tell, anyway." Her eyes flitted around, darting between my face and the ground at her feet a few times before coming to rest, gazing at some spot in the distance. "He texted me a few weeks ago, asking for help on his geometry homework. And then he kept texting me. We talked about…stuff. School, mostly. And then, a couple nights ago, we started playing Truth or Dare. " She bit her lip. "And I asked him who he liked. And he said some girl in his fourth period."

I raised a tentative hand. "Are you done?"

"Yes, Meg."

Leaning forward, I grabbed her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes. "Harm, _please._ Stop suffering in silence about these things. If you don't inform me about your life problems, I have to waste valuable time just _finding out_ about them, when I should instead be using that time to _fix_ them."

She broke free of my grip. "Contrary to your belief, Meg, you can't solve all my problems."

"Wrong. I can and I will. Watch, I'll demonstrate. One: I know Cal's schedule forwards and backwards, and I can tell you for a fact he doesn't even _take_ geometry. So the only possible reason he would text you about homework for a fictitious class is just plain _wanting to text you_. And two, what do you have fourth period?"

Harmony blinked. "English?"

I folded my arms triumphantly. "I rest my case."

"How does that solve anything?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?"

"That would be helpful."

I leaned forward again. " _Cal_ has English fourth period, you idiot. You just probably never noticed because you think that's your worst class so you spend the entire period with your nose to the grindstone stressing out so hard about how one B+ on a quiz is going to bring down your GPA that you wouldn't notice if aliens landed, and also because he probably sits behind you so he can spend the whole class period sniffing your hair or something equally creepy."

"…. How on _earth_ did you manage to say all that in one breath?"

"My lungs have mystical power. Don't change the subject."

Harm glanced over at my watch. "We're gonna be late if we don't start walking."

"Do you actually know the meaning of the words 'don't change the subject'?"

"Do you know the meaning of 'we're going to be late for school'?"

I circled in front of her, turned around to face her, and started walking backwards. "Are you willing to admit that I have solved all your problems yet?"

"You're going to fall off the sidewalk, Meg."

"Please. I have the balance of a gazelle."

"Meg, I swear, if you don't turn around _now_ I'm going to carry you the rest of the way to school."

"I'd like to see you try."

Note to self: never, ever say those six words again.

In the space of a few slightly blurry moments, Harmony somehow managed to near-effortlessly pick me up and sling me around her shoulders in a fireman's carry.

"Okay, you proved your point. You can put me down now."

Harmony gave a thoughtful little hum. "Nah."

"What do you mean, 'nah'?"

"What I said." Harm readjusted her grip on me, then took a step forward. "Let's go."

"Harm, school is ten blocks away. You can't possibly-"

"Watch me."

I switched tactics. "Fine. Giddyap, noble steed."

Instead of finding this provoking, however, she merely let out a neigh and broke into a gallop. An extremely bouncy, jarring gallop.  
For the sensibilities of the gentle reader (as they used to say in Victorian novels), I will gloss over the details of the tooth-rattling ride.

Suffice it to say that when I was finally permitted to dismount, my leg muscles had been reduced to the consistency of butter. Melted butter.

I felt perfectly entitled to express my sweet relief at no longer being in fear for my life. Harmony, however, seemed to disagree.

"Meg, will you please stop kissing the ground? People are starting to stare."

I looked up from where I was horizontally sprawling in a flowerbed outside the doors of Julie Hughes High School. "I don't care. I'm entitled to this."

"You're entitled to…. making out with dirt?"

"Don't judge me and my life choices."

Harmony reached down and grabbed my wrist. "Homeroom starts in six minutes and there's soil all over you."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Meg, I put you down on the front steps. You're the one who started crawling up the steps, slipped and fell into the flowerbed, and yelled at me to leave you alone with your pain when I tried to help you up."

"Details. Details."

Harmony rolled her eyes. "You should go get cleaned up before class starts." She hesitated, then leaned in and gave me a quick, arms-around-neck hug.

I was slightly surprised. "What was that for?"

"Things."

"… Cal related things, by any chance?"

"… Maybe."

"Sorry, couldn't hear you. Was that a 'Yes, Megan, and also you're the world's wisest being and I'll bring you free cupcakes for the rest of your life for being such a fantastic friend and love guru'?"

"Thank you for reminding me why I don't thank you for things."

"You're so welcome."

Shouldering her backpack, Harmony turned and started to make her way through the quickly-growing throng of students.

I turned to the side and discreetly spat over the steps, trying to get rid of the taste of grass and soil, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and stepped through the doorway in search of a bathroom. It was only my fourth week at JHHS, and I hadn't yet mapped out all their locations.

I soon managed to find one between the home ec room and the chemistry lab. Heading inside, I was intent on cleaning up my outfit, maybe tidying up my braids and/or applying a second coat of lip gloss if I had time.

I didn't have time for any of these things, however, as mere seconds after I pushed open the bathroom door and stepped inside, strong hands seized me and dragged me into the nearest stall.

The door swung shut with an ominous click.


End file.
